


The Awakening of Ian Gallagher

by wh0lemilk0vich (yaaaasshole)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 4 times/1 time, Chubby Kink, Fluff, Gallavich, M/M, Oblivious weight gain, Rationalizing, Smut, Thighs, Weight Gain, chubby!Mickey, gallavich ficlet - Freeform, implied ass worship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaaaasshole/pseuds/wh0lemilk0vich
Summary: Or, the four times Ian notices Mickey's increasing weight, and the one time Mickey can't help but noticeMickey was getting hefty. There was no doubt about it. To be honest, Ian was probably more in denial about it than Mickey was, but then again, he noticed it all sooner. (You kinda have to know about something to be in denial about it...) The only thing Ian was left wondering, was what it was going to take for him to notice.





	1. Undies-gate

Mickey was getting hefty. There was no doubt about it.

To be honest Ian was probably more in denial about it than Mickey was, but then again, he noticed it all sooner. (You kinda hafta, even just barely, notice something to be in denial about it)

It had started off slowly, so slowly and subtly that Ian barely noticed at first.

Mickey was—to put it delicately—never a skinny boy, per say, that much could be said from the outset. And Ian first took note of an increase in his… “non-skinny-ness” when his little Ukrainian thug started complaining about his underwear.

* * *

 

“Fuck…” Mickey hissed, before continuing along on a string of hushed expletives.

“What did you do this time?” Ian asked deadpan, stepping out from the bathroom. He’d been brushing his teeth, but his frothing jaw went slack at sight he was greeted with. There was his Mickey, doing his absolute damnedest, trying to fit way too much ass into way too little fabric.

Ian dropped his toothbrush.

“These cheap-ass Costco boxer-briefs keep shrinking in the wash… I can’t. Fucking. Get them. Up!” he said, jumping and tugging for emphasis. The waistband was getting caught in the crease where the swell of his ass met those luscious thighs.

The resulting jiggling and bouncing of hefty, milky-white cheeks nearly gave Ian an aneurysm.

Ian finally snapped out of his reverie, when Mickey, playing a little tug-o-war with his fruit-of-the-looms, finally turned to face him.

Naturally, Mickey caught sight of a very naked and very aroused Ian Gallagher, rolling his eyes and groaning, as if to ask, “is this really happening?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me Gallagher… A stiff wind could get you hard.”

Ian at least had the decency to blush, but beyond that he was fucking shameless. He just cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Want me to help?” smiling his crooked, playful hundred-watt smile and closing in on his giggling little thug.

The redhead’s long fingers grabbed at the waistband of Mickey’s boxers, tugging the brunet’s pale tummy against his own washboard abs. ‘Shit,’ Ian thought, feeling that there was hardly any give in the elastic. ‘He wasn’t kidding.’

“We’ll have to get you some new undies. Guess the machine is running too hot… either that, or that ass of yours is getting too powerful, Mick.”

“Fuck off!” He responded without any real bite.

Ian slid a hand down the back of the nearly-straining underwear—purely to test “the structural integrity of the elastic and cotton” (This is research, Mick)—grabbing a substantial handful of Mickey, before pulling him up into a searing kiss.

Once Ian’s other hand yanked Mickey’s thigh up and around his waist it was game over. The redhead scooped up his boyfriend—was he always this heavy?—and tossed him, stomach down, onto their bed, like a scene out of one of those trashy pharmacy romance novels.

He decided Mickey’s undies had been put through enough torture. Ian climbed into bed, after the brunet. Getting into a comfy, kneeling position, he reached down and (with markedly little effort) tore the offending cotton straight down the middle; his eyes going wide as Mickey’s ass jiggled into place, expanding in its newly-won freedom.

“Holy fucking shit…” Ian sighed reverently, transfixed on the globes.

After catching sight of Mickey’s flushed face, looking over his shoulder, he dove in. Face first.

* * *

 

The two had planned on being productive, really, they had. They were going to run errands, pick up groceries, watch Mickey’s kid for a bit… But even the best laid plans of mice and men go astray when you remember your boyfriend’s got a fucking bubblicious butt powerful enough to rival the gods, and you need to give it the attention it deserves.

Now, it was during his intimate, up-close, and extensive encounter with said ass, that Ian realized the undies-situation was no trick of the washer-dryer. No, that…that was _aaaaaaall_ Mickey.

The only thing Ian was left wondering, was what it was going to take for _him_ to notice.


	2. Two-Thigh Combo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thick thighs do not always save lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has some rough (in terms of quality) smut, I hope ya'll like it and it doesn't seem too rushed!

It was actually a good few weeks after undies-gate that Ian’s eyes started tuning into another change in his boyfriend’s filling physique. He was thinking of calling the whole incident “the two-thigh combo.”

Mickey had always had a unique gait, a bowlegged swagger that exuded cock of the walk confidence. That was just Mickey’s style, and maybe an unconscious way of looking bigger and more intimidating. Who knows? But one thing Ian was pretty sure of was that it had never been to this degree before.

What was always sort of just a power-strut had become even more pronounced, and Ian was just hypnotized by how much movement a few steps could cause. Not forgetting the fact that the brunet bombshell was certainly more bottom heavy as of late, Ian could tell Mickey’s thighs were now fighting alongside that massive ass for breathing room, something of which they were getting precious little in Mickey’s wardrobe. 

In the mornings, he would catch Mickey constantly picking at and readjusting his boxers (even after the redhead went and surreptitiously bought him larger pairs). Somehow the inseams were always creeping up and he was constantly getting wedgies. 

Mickey would only sit in specific chairs in the kitchen. The ones without armrests. He’d say he didn’t want to feel like he was ‘Trapped in a fucking high chair, Ian,’ and he was manspreading like fucking crazy. Of course, it must be a little tough to keep so much thigh smooshed together.

Then there were the jeans. If it was underwear before, jeans were now in increasingly short supply as well. He wore out the inside thigh of nearly every pair of jeans he owned, which again, maybe wasn’t the worst thing considering he was practically bursting out of all of them, and shit was that a pretty picture.

But that brings the development to one very interesting, very eventful morning.

It was an otherwise normal, completely random Saturday morning, and for once, after all the bipolar shit he had gone through, Ian was fucking horny. Like really truly horny. God had tossed him a fucking boner, and NOTHING, come hell or high water, was going to keep from enjoying it. So naturally he set his sights firmly on Mickey. Dear, sweet, less than innocent Mickey. To say Ian was thirsting for the boy would be an understatement, the boy was suffering from sexual dehydration and the only cure was Mickey's dick.

So he crawled on top of his sleeping little Mickey-bear, trying to wake him up to have some fun.

“Leave me alone, fucking Raggedy Andy… I’m not in the mood to fucking walk funny for the next week.” Mickey groaned, turning over, doing his best to avoid Ian’s grasp. (Good fucking luck)

Ian wanted to mention how the smaller boy was already walking sort of funny these days with those tree trunks he called thighs, but despite how often he found himself drooling over those trunks, he thought better of saying that and tried harder to negotiate some intimacy.

“Come oooooon Mick, my meds are balanced and I actually feel like the fucking horny teenager that I am for once! What if I just give you head then? You don’t even have to do anything, a breakfast BJ” Ian was laying it on as thick as he could. He WANTED Mickey, didn’t matter how he got him.

Naturally, at that offer, Mickey turned his sleepy face toward Ian, raising an interested eyebrow.

“I don’t have to do shit?”

“Don’t have to lift a finger.”

“I can just lay back, and you’ll do all the work?”

Ian rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Jesus fu- Yes Mick. Just relax, and I’ll do all the heavy lifting.” He punctuated with a peck to the brunet's plump smiling lips. “Do we have a deal?” the desperation clear in his voice.

Mickey was already chuckling and getting comfy on his back, agreeing to the terms of their verbal contract “Fine, Red. Learned a long time ago you don’t look a blow job in the mouth.” He said, tossing off his tank top and the comforter, leaving him in just those ever-tightening boxers.

Ian spread Mickey’s thick legs, settling down between them. He leaned down, nuzzling and kissing his boyfriend’s thick short length through the soft, satiny boxer-brief material. He took his time pulling the fabric down, watching Mickey’s amused expression, and the way his cock—caught on the waistband of the underwear—bounced up, smacking against his creamy white belly, all pink and happy. 

He tossed the boxers aside, taking Mickey in his hand and giving him long, gentle teasing strokes, feeding off the feeling of the brunet quivering underneath him.

“Thought you said you were gonna put that big mouth to good use.” Mickey teased, looking down with his own blown out baby blues, into Ian’s mischievous green eyes.

His demeanor changing suddenly, Ian grabbed onto Mickey’s thighs, feeling—much like his ass—just how plush they had gotten, sighing out a breathy “Holy shit…”

He quickly dipped under Mickey’s legs, heaving those thick luscious thighs onto his shoulders. Moving a hand back to Mickey’s cock to keep it entertained, Ian turned his head to the side biting into his thigh, filling his mouth with supple flesh and earning a groan from Mickey.

That groan went straight down Ian’s spine, reminding him of the goal at hand. He turned back to Mickey’s thick little cock, and swallowed him down without much hesitation, wrapping his arms around his partner’s thighs for leverage.

Mickey, feeling Ian envelope him in the wet searing heat of his mouth and throat, let out a breathless “Fuck,” and a chuckle that only comes when your brain is so blissed out it doesn’t know what else to say.

Ian had started bobbing, keeping up suction, moaning and sending vibrations throughout Mickey, who was completely at his mercy. Mickey, on the other hand, was left reeling and shaking, doing his best not to give up the ghost. In fact, the only thing he could do to try to keep himself from ending things too quickly was to squeeze his thighs together, all but trapping Ian's head between walls of flesh.

So, there Ian was sucking his boyfriend’s cock, while said boyfriend, it seemed, was doing his absolute best to choke him out with those angel soft thighs as big as his head. The redhead didn't know whether he was in heaven or hell, but he was certain there was no way something this good could be real life.

The closer Mickey got, the tighter he squeezed, obscuring Ian’s vision, making it hard to breathe, and yet the redhead didn't do a single thing to stop him. He just kept working, bobbing, drooling, letting out completely obscured moans, while Mickey’s thighs did their best to decapitate him.

Mickey was babbling incoherently by the time he burst down Ian’s throat, the vice-like grip of his massive thighs releasing at the same time. 

The two were left breathless and gasping, although for completely different reasons. When Ian finally caught his breath, he managed to ask, “We gonna talk about where the fuck that WWE move came from? Fuck was that? I didn’t order the two-thigh combo, Mick.” He added, chuckling.

Mickey was fucked out, glowing, grinning like a maniac but managed to say, sheepishly, “Musta been some sort of reflex, just happened… but man we have to do that shit again, wouldn’t mind waking up like that every day.” 

“I don’t think I could survive waking you up like that every day… Those thighs are no joke, Mick.”  
Getting a look at them unrestrained, Ian was reminded just how big Mickey was getting. Everything was staying pretty proportional he was just a big, thick boy all ‘round, but fuck if the look wasn’t working for him. 

The thought of Mickey getting bigger, softer… well that left Ian with his own nine-inch problem. Looking down at his crotch and looking back up to Mickey he asked, “Ready for round two, big boy?” pouncing onto the Mickey, starting up an impromptu wrestling match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, sorry I'm super irregular with posting! I'm a grad student, and even though I was on summer break, I've had a fair amount of writing/research/editing to do, and I start teaching this semester so woo (?) But I was just really so encouraged by the outpouring of positivity for this fic, even though there's not much to it and this is all really new for me. Your comments really just make me want to write and make it all feel so worthwhile. So thank you!!
> 
> When I continue things, I always feel like I hit this wall and I feel like it comes off contrived. Please tell me what you think and how you feel about this chapter! I'm just worried it's not as good as the first one haha.
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos! If you want to talk chubby!Mickeys ideas, headcanons, prompts whatever just talk to me at wh0lemilk0vich on tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> I was so encouraged by all the kudos and comments people left that I wanted to start something new! I am such a slut for comments omg, please let me know what you think. There's more to come! 
> 
> If you want, follow, message, prompt, or whatever me at wh0lemilk0vich.tumblr.com


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